Thanks in parentheses
by Runespoor
Summary: The system called reciprocity. Hookerfic and identity porn.


**Title: **Thanks in parentheses  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Bruce/Jason  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Warning:<strong> underage prostitution  
><strong>Summary:<strong> the system called reciprocity. hookerfic and identity porn.

* * *

><p>Bonking Batman in the stomach and dashing off didn't work the first time. It probably wouldn't work the second, not that Jason wants to. There's more than one way of getting out of trouble, Jason's known since the first he's been called smart-mouthed by a cop with sleazy eyes.<p>

And Batman, well. All kind of rumors about _him_. Jason's heard about his boy.

The one with the – he's not going to _say_ panties. Sure, Batman thinks he's self-destructive; stealing tires off the Batmobile, and going after the car again when Batman let him go once. But he's not that damn stupid.

Not until he knows for sure that-

He makes himself look up into Batman's eyes, the white lenses. Fucking eerie, but a couple inches lower, the cowl gives way to skin, and that's human. Jason can see the stubble.

Batman doesn't move, doesn't step back, as Jason props himself against the car, licks his lips. And steps forward, closer. Batman's tall, and built, and unless the cowl is a big fat liar, the lower half of his face promise only good things about his bone structure. Not exactly a hardship. And even if Batman turns out to be what they call not conventionally attractive, he's _Batman_. That's more than enough hot right there to make what Jason's contemplating totally all right with Jason's hormones.

"I was thinking, Batman," he says once he's slid into the personal space of the man inside the Batsuit, close enough that if he reaches he could touch the man's skin. He can see a thin white line through the stubble, tiredness or scar. "I could show you a good time."

He's close enough that he can see Batman's nostrils flare.

"What are you saying."

But Batman doesn't push him away or get him into an arm's lock to drop with the cops. Doesn't disappear, even, just stands there like the Everest, radiating cold disapproval. Like it's gonna have an effect on Jason.

"That you look like you could stand to have some _fun_, big man." Daringly, he grabs Batman's hand and sets it on his hip, and Batman lets him, as he sidles closer yet, until their toes are almost touching. The gauntlet's texture rubs against his skin as he does, cool and thick and—dangerous. Powerful. Batman punches people with these gauntlets. He fights, he picks locks, he makes incredibly precise forensic experiments with these on. He'll touch Jason with these. "Cm'on," he mutters. "Lemme help you with that. However you want me."

Batman's gauntlet twitches on Jason's hip, but it doesn't retract. Jason cocks his head, and gives the towering shape his best seductive smile.

"Jay-"

"Just tonight," Jason cuts him off with a finger on Batman's lips, before Batman can get into the details of his life. "One night, you can let go, right? Hey, if you want me bareback, there's no extra. Not for you, Batman. We Crime Alley punks know who's looking after us."

There's an instant of silence, the time for Jason to take and keep a breath.

"What," Batman asks, as his other hand comes up to mirror the first, his voice ground-up like rock or coffee. "Not all free of charge? You could be more thankful."

A thrill shoots through Jason, victory and trepidation mixed, that Batman gives in into the game. As Batman leans in, his mouth hot on the side on Jason's neck, Jason finds himself gripping at him, but his bare fingers can't find a hold on the cape, or the armor, so he clutches at Batman's shoulders and tries to keep breathing while he lets Batman devour him alive.

He only opens his eyes again when his back hits the car.

"I gotta- gotta give the man his cut. If it were up to me-" He's babbling. He knows he's babbling. It doesn't matter; what matters is Batman's hands, that have popped open his jeans' buttons without his realizing, and Batman's hand down his pants.

"Your pimp." Batman's breath against his skin is hot. Damp. He doesn't stop moving his hand around Jason's cock. "Who is he?"

He's still crowding Jason like it'll make a difference. Or maybe he doesn't know how to stop, maybe he can't turn it off. That's okay; when Batman gives that tug with his wrist, and Jason whimpers, caught between the hard car and Batman's harder shape, one of Gotham's buildings come to life, Jason doesn't want him to turn it off. He's—if he's gonna fuck Batman, he fucking wanna get fucked by Batman. Batman's that thing where you don't know where it stops, you don't know _if_ it stops, and Batman's just- Batman's just too much for a man, that's how you know it's not just a man, not just a guy in a high-tech suit.

"Matches," Jason pants. "Matches Malone."

The Batman smiles.

Jason's thighs jerk open just a little bit more. It's not really terror drowning his brain. But it feels like it should be. If Jason- if Jason wasn't a _fucking dumb_ kid who'd picked up Batman.

It's not terror even when Jason's lust-foggy brain picks through the words Batman breathes in his ear. "Matches and I have an... arrangement. He'll understand."

It's a promise: Jason can't escape. He shivers and gives himself over, to the creepy blank lenses of Batman's cowl and the harsh gauntlets and Batman's teeth, but the truth is, he doesn't want to escape.


End file.
